


Knitting

by mochaangel



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, I guess there is a weird depiction of gore, Nothing violent but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochaangel/pseuds/mochaangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knitting was incredibly boring. So why does the always active, always chaotic Mabel Pines do it so often without rest? Was there anything to accomplish from it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knitting

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a self-indulgent drabble taking place after Dreamscaperers but before any other Bill-based episode.

Mabel was different when she knitted.

 

Always vibrant, always laughing, always loud and happy, these were constants that made up the girl known as Mabel Pines. But the slow and careful clicking of knitting needles had always been a patient sound, a sound only particular to the elderly or the intentionally quiet. This sound was not meant for a girl who did not want to grow up, who did not want to stay silent. Yet there she was, in the silence of her attic bedroom, looping every stitch with a stillness uncommon to her nature. The clicking of her needles was similar to a ticking clock and Bill had to wonder if time existed for her in that moment.

 

Yes, Bill Cipher had been watching her. He had grown bored of watching Mabel’s twin put miscellaneous items into a microwave to watch them explode and he had already cringed and laughed at his awkward attempt to flirt with the red-headed cashier girl.

 

Bill had already seen the twin’s great-uncle scam gullible tourists in his routine tours of the Mystery Shack, pickpocketing them when he had felt that the money he had already taken was still not enough to satisfy his early-morning greed.

 

 Bill had witnessed everyone else in Gravity Falls as well. All of them were up and about in the same active way as the Pines’ family. It was a rare time but everyone seemed to be moving and doing something, no human tired from a stressful work load, no pixie yawning because they got some of their enchanted dust on their face. It was all extremely boring.

 

No one was asleep, no one had summoned him, he was in the mindscape as isolated as a triangle could be. While he had the option of hanging out in the Nightmare realm with his other buddies, the slow decay of time and space was already a mundane sight to him. He needed something new to work with, another confining dimension that he could unbind from its laws and physical orders. Loudness, vibrancy, laughter, and happiness! Bill Cipher sought all these things to decorate the life he had planned for himself and although he had twisted the words from their human definitions, these were also things Bill thought Mabel Pines was as well.

 

While her interests lied in more girly reflections of happiness and loudness, the way of expression was surprisingly similar to Bill’s own imagination. Bill actually enjoyed watching Mabel’s dreams, she had a randomness that only her own consciousness could navigate through and like Bill’s own world, she had a disregard for the rules. That was also why Bill had watched Mabel Pines knit.

 

Knitting was so boring, the same movement repeated over and over and over again with seemingly no end as hours pass by. Bill was sure Mabel would fall asleep from the dullness of it all, opening her mind for him to probe around and shift her dreams a little. Except, Mabel did not do this, hours went by and Mabel was still in that same spot knitting that same sweater.

 

_Mabel Pines wears so many sweaters._

_Does she knit them all?_

_Does she do this all the time?_

 

It was difficult for Bill to imagine Mabel stuck in that position for such a long time. He was used to her voice singing songs not in her vocal range, eating things just because they were bright and colourful, drawing a mashup of anything she thought of and not questioning the physiology of it. Yet there she was, separating herself from Bill’s expectations and just sitting there.

 

Bill could do nothing else except flip through every other channel to see if anything better was on. There were many things increasingly more entertaining than Mabel’s slow knitting process but it still bothered Bill.

 

Bill Cipher had a good amount of similarities with Mabel Pines, he could admit that. While their physical properties – he having none and her having all – and their moral standings – he having none and her having all – were in obvious contrast, their concept of fun was no doubt the same. So how was she able to sit in absolute concentration on a slow and endless process that he would absolutely find tedious and burn to the ground in an instant? Where was the fun in that?

 

The nighttime entered the town of Gravity Falls the way syrup landed on pancakes, slow and not _fast enough_. Everyone had finally begun to fall asleep and Bill felt freedom once more as he had the free reign of everyone’s dreams to travel through. However, he only needed one destination for now.

 

Mabel Pine’s dreamscape was as bright and crazy as he remembered it. The sky was a bright purple with wisps of clouds that looked more like cotton candy than anything else. To Bill’s un-surprise the cloud was in fact fluffy sugar that floated perpendicular to the dream-ground. Bill sat on one of the sugar-clouds and looked over Mabel’s dream land.

 

The inhabitants to Mabel’s mind were idly strolling or crawling or hopping or slithering or dragging themselves to their non-existent destinations, this was Mabel’s mind after all, these creatures only existed for Mabel and when she was not there they did not have a particular purpose. They just filled space.

 

Puppies with business suits were going into limos made in the shape of bones, smoking dog-treat cigars as they barked orders to some non-existent entity on their phones. Sentient chairs were _sitting_ on non-sentient chairs while waiting for a large hamster ball that seemed to act as transit for the dream creatures. Except, everyone who entered the ball ran with it, defeating the purpose of the _transit_ part of public transit. Book characters, television shows, things Bill felt jealous that he had not thought of first were all cluttered in Mabel’s mind.

 

Speaking of Mabel, Bill had spotted the chamber where she was residing and flew swiftly through it, knocking down of few dream-structures in the process. Who said he couldn’t have a little fun while invading the Pine girl’s dream?

 

As he entered the chamber Bill's first thought was that he was too slow, which was untrue as blurring objects in his peripheral vision meant _speed._ His second thought was that the hall he had been flying in was incredibly long. Slowing down, Bill saw in clarity what the hall looked like.

 

 There were frames of sweaters, not pictures or photographs but life-sized sweaters enclosed in glass frames, lining the hall like plaques of honour. And it was an incredibly long hall way thus the sweaters had to be numbered by the thousands. They all had little metal plates that read out names, dates, and the artist.

 

The names ranged from literal descriptions of the sweater images like ‘ _Puppy playing Basketball’_ to jokes like ‘ _Why Pinocchio should not Wear Lying Pants’_ where an image of Pinocchio was wearing pants that looked to be on fire and he was suffering as well since Pinocchio was made from such a flammable material himself. Bill enjoyed that one.

 

The dates had some past years, from about five or six years ago counting all the way up to the present. However, most dates seemed to be in the future meaning most of these sweaters were ideas Mabel was just planning to make, Bill was disappointed to note the Pinocchio one was a future project.

 

The artist, and Bill really did not see the reasoning in stating it on the metal plaques when Mabel was the only one who was going to see these sweaters anyway – or was supposed to – was all Mabel Pines.

 

Bill kept moving forward through the hall, only stopping to admire one of Mabel’s rarer and more morbid sweater designs until he found a door. It was large and made of a reddish-pink wool. It was obviously the gate to where Mabel was as it had her signature shooting star logo stitched with great detail on the front. Bill kicked it open with very little care, the large rope-like yarn even ripped at the force of impact.

 

Behind the door was an enormous room. It had a circular base with walls that stretched up into some sort of infinity, framed sweaters covering every inch of the sides. The ground was made of a wool carpet that looked soft to the touch, Mabel’s star was placed in the middle of it. And Mabel Pines herself was on a chair, knitting while in the absolute middle of the room. Or _was_ knitting until Bill decided to bust down her door.

 

“REALLY KID? YOU KNIT ALL DAY WHILE YOU’RE AWAKE AND ALL YOU WANNA DO IS KNIT WHILE YOU SLEEP TOO?” Bill screamed at Mabel, ignoring the gawking expression she held as she was just interrupted from her dream. “I’M STARTING TO THINK YOU GOTTA PROBLEM HERE.”

 

Mabel blinked a few times and stared at the demon silently for only a few moments.

 

“Bill? Bill Cipher, the triangle guy?” She asked but really, she should already know.

 

“NO, I’M YOUR GRANDMOTHER.” Bill shifted into a perfect replication of Mabel’s grandmother, the scent of old-lady perfume and lemon snicker-doodles to complete it. However, once Mabel relaxed at the familiar scents Bill shifted again, warping Mabel’s memory of her grandmother into a twisted shape of a human being and a triangle. The soft and aged skin of the woman forcibly stretched across forty degree angles, her mouth stretched too wide across one point exposing the inside of her throat like it was plastic bag turned inside out; it looked ready to rip as it tried to breath. The entire existence of the thing looked painful and when it asked, _“Would you like a cookie, dearie?”_ in a muffled and strained voice, Mabel screamed and threw one of her knitting needles at it. 

 

Bill laughed joyously at Mabel’s reaction and shifted back into his regular form.

 

“You aren’t grandma!” Mabel tried to hit Bill again with her other knitting needle but missed just the tip of his top hat as he took it off to bow like a gentleman.

 

“WHAT A COMPLIMENT! BEING ‘ _GRAND’_ SOUNDS LIKE ONE THING, BEING A _‘MA’_ SOUNDS LIKE A HASSLE.” Bill placed his top hat back onto its precarious position floating atop his top point.

 

“What do you want,  _triangle guy?”_ Mabel slumped into her chair pouting like a child whose toy had just been taken way from her, her mood was obviously ruined due to Bill’s rude appearance.

 

“AWW… ISN’T SHOOTING STAR HAPPY TO SEE ME?” Bill played around hoping to illicit another volatile reaction from her. Mabel just scrunched up her face and stuck her tongue out at him. Bill then snapped his fingers and Mabel’s tongue popped right out of her mouth, running away from her with its new arms and legs.

 

Aside from the initial shock Mabel had on her face Bill was surprised her expression had become very bored. He then saw her clap her hands twice and lie down on her chair. Bill and Mabel were suddenly teleported back into the attic room she and her twin lived in for the summer. She was now lying on her bed, not on a chair anymore and stuck out her tongue again. The tongue he was sure he had sent running off.

 

“If you’re going to control my dreams, you’re gonna have to do better than that! My tongue runs away from my mouth every time I have a dream about desserts.” Mabel answered a question Bill did not ask.

 

“Now tell me your reasons for trespass or be executed by CAKE!” Mabel raised her arms to emphasize her point, even making her voice mimic some sort of shoddy royal accent.

 

Bill realized Mabel was still in a sort of _dream-high_ where she understood the circumstances of what was happening but she still has all these beliefs that connect more to her _dream-mind_ than her conscious mind and – WHAT IN ISOSCELES’ ANGLES! HE IS BEING DEVOURED BY A GIANT SENTIENT CAKE!

 

“NOM, NOM NOM,” the cake bellowed in a deep and throaty voice but each bite sounded like a light and fluffy _pap_ as it chewed.

 

“Haha! Death by pastry suffocation!” Mabel whooped as she watched Bill jumble in the cake’s mouth. In a quick flurry Bill broke through the cake and blasted a 400 degree heat-beam at it, charring it until it was just a pile of black ashes on the ground.

 

“Hey! I was gonna eat that later,” Mabel complained.

 

“HOW ABOUT I EAT YOU NOW!” Bill snapped turning to Mabel in a _red_ fury, letting himself grow five times larger than her. Mabel leaned back in wariness but clapped her hands again.

 

They were now in a room where _everything_ was red and Bill looked like a floating black eye, top hat and bow tie. Confused that he could not identify his body for a second Bill found that there was no solid ground anymore and Mabel had just floated up to his eye level and _bopped_ his eye.

 

“Bop!”

 

“HEY! DON'T TOUCH THAT!” Bill retracted to his more compact, more yellow version of himself, shielding his eye in a protective manner.

 

“We’re in _my_ mind Billy- _bop_! What did you expect?” Mabel giggled as she floated around randomly, twisting and turning circles around the triangular demon. Tired of having his power questioned, Bill snapped his fingers and in a flash they were back in Mabel’s attic room, Mabel flopped clumsily on her bed.

 

 As she sat up straight she puffed up her cheeks and blew air from her closed lips, an almost offensive sound was made if not for the bored tone the sound took.

 

“You’re no fun,” Mabel pointed out derisively, yet somehow she stated it like a fact.

 

“HA!” Bill retorted with a mocking laugh of his own, “OH I’M FUN SHOOTING STAR, YOU AND I JUST DON’T SEE _EYE_ TO _EYE_ SOMETIMES.” He leaned closer to Mabel making his only ocular source glow with a threatening light, his slit pupil shifted into a shadowy silhouette of his eye.

 

The image grew larger at a fast and rhythmic pace and the image of the pupil in Bill’s eye had another image of his eye inside it. The pattern continued on like that until Mabel’s invasive thoughts urged her to _bop_ Bill’s eye again.

 

Immediately reading that thought the second it popped into Mabel’s head, Bill retracted a few feet away from her and pretended to fix his bow tie. Mabel looked disappointed for a second until she crossed her arms and began to pout.

 

“What you think is fun is _definitely_ not fun.” She stated a matter-of-factly, like she had a rule book on what was fun and what wasn’t.

 

“I BEG TO DIFFER.” Bill made a lemon snicker-doodle appear in his hands and watched as its spiny legs crawl frantically from his hand to under Mabel’s bed. Mabel had reflexively pulled her feet closer to her and glared at the triangle.

 

“Lemon _spider-doodles_ are definitely _not_ fun,” Mabel spat at Bill as he rolled his eye. “Actual _snickering_ snicker-doodles are fun.” With a clap of her hand a cartoonish cookie with a happy face popped into the room with an added puff of smoke that made the whole room smell like fresh-baked biscuits. The snicker-doodle was laughing jovially like it had heard a good joke.

 

“OH…” Bill feigned interest as he snapped his fingers and the same cookie that Mabel had made appear was gruesomely crumbled all over the floor. The biscuit was still laughing however, a shrieking of maniacal laughter only heard through choked sobs and breaths.

 

Mabel clapped her hands and it completely disappeared. She turned angrily to Bill who was looking on the tips of his fingertips like he had nails to manage. He did not, which only meant that action was supposed to mock her, how dare he enter _her_ dreams, ruin _her_ fantasies and not care at all?

 

“Kittens on unicycles are fun.” Mabel clapped again and a litter of orange and white kittens stacked on each other appeared riding a unicycle where the laughing snickerdoodle used to be. They were a little flimsy but they managed to stay up.

 

“Grandfather clocks who tell weird limericks are fun!” Another clap.  An oak grandfather clock stood with a peaceful and mischievous expression on his clock face. It began to tell a limerick of a frog from Alabama in an aged but friendly voice.

 

“Fairy rave parties are fun!” Another clap. Dancing fairies clothed in glow-in-the-dark flower blooms and foliage popped into the room, heaps of fairy dust made the attic smell like rainbow juice, wishful thinking, and way too many dips in the dandelion brew. Bill didn’t know Mabel went to the _Summer Solstice Celebration_? The fairies were unusually picky when it came down to inviting other species.

 

“Knitting crazy awesome sweaters are fun!” Before Mabel could clap and they would both suffocate in a sea of her own dream-knitting, Bill stopped her there.

 

“KID, KNITTING IS NOT FUN.” Bill looked down at Mabel with an expectant look. Like he was expecting Mabel to think his opinion was right just by first hearing it.

 

“Uhm, have you _seen_ my sweaters?” Mabel returned his look with an offended one. She gestured to her dream-sweater which was an image of a night sky and a full moon shining down on the silhouetted landscape of what appeared to be Gravity Falls, her sleeves even continued the expanse of the silhouetted town and the stars were stitched with great detail. Bill should have scoffed at her suggestion that he would be moved by something as undeniably useless as _aesthetic_ but he had to pause for a moment because he had seen those colours before.

 

“WHERE’D YOU GET THAT SWEATER FROM?” Bill leaned closer to Mabel’s sweater, examining the stitches at close range. His vision focused on the very fibres that made up the yarn. This sweater had not been on display in her previous dream?

 

“I made it!” Mabel pushed Bill away from her as she shielded her sweater from his too-observing eye. “Well, I’m _making_ it.”

 

“SO THIS WAS THAT THING YOU WERE WORKING ON ALL DAY?” Bill raised his eye to Mabel’s face.

 

“Yeah, I finished the top part but now I have to add in the town, it’s easy, I just have to fill in the spaces.” Mabel pointed to the spaces on her sweater she was going to fix, now speaking calmly to the demon invading her dreams.

 

“THAT IS THE _DULLEST_ THING I HAVE EVER HEARD FROM YOUR MOUTH SHOOTING STAR.” Bill abruptly stated finding more interest in the grandfather limerick clock than the girl.

 

“What!” Before Mabel could insult the triangle back Bill waved her off.

 

“I MEAN REALLY? YOU TALK ABOUT KNITTING LIKE YOU TALK ABOUT THROWING A PARTY! HOW DOES FUN GO FROM THIS--” Bill gestured to all of the things Mabel had clapped into the room, “--TO THIS?” Bill then made a ball of yarn appear alongside some knitting needles, he then dropped it gracelessly onto the floor letting it roll a bit and then stop right beside Mabel’s bed.

 

“THIS…” Bill gestured again to the party of fairies, kittens, and clocks.

 

“TO THIS?” And then back again to the ball of yarn that lied inanimate on the floor.

 

 “You’re just a triangle, what would you know of the wonders of knitting?” Mabel challenged.

 

“THERE’S NOT MUCH _TO_ KNOW, KID. BESIDES THE BORING POSITION YOU PUT YOURSELF IN FOR HOURS AND HOURS ON END!” Bill’s eye turned into a ticking clock that had the hands moving quickly on its face. “AND I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE FUN ONE, SHOOTING STAR?”

 

Mabel rolled her eyes. Now it was Bill who sounded like he had the rules of fun memorised down to the _point_. Mabel then looked at the yarn Bill had made appear and decided to take it, reaching from her bed she slowly brought it up.

 

“OH C’MON I ONLY TOOK THAT OUT AS EXAMPLE.” Bill whined as he saw Mabel start to knit with his dream-yarn.

 

“Shut up, it’s a good gold.” The yarn was bright yellow actually but the way it glowed in the mindscape did make it look like a garishly gold ore. She began to loop her yarn and Bill just groaned, ready to just leave Mabel and her odd obsession with knitting as a mystery that is to never be solved.

 

“Done!” Bill’s eye widened as he looked to Mabel again, she had put her needles down and looked proudly at the sweater she made.

 

“WHAT?” Bill gawked at her.

 

“What? I can speed knit,” Mabel defended herself light-heartedly, she seemed completely content after making the thing. “Besides, there wasn’t a lot to actually _make_.” She brought up her creation to eye level and Bill did not know if he should feel offended or disgusted.

 

She had made a sweater that looked like it could perfectly fit onto Bill, a triangular body with little sleeves to complete it.

 

“Oops!” Mabel looked at her creation with surprise and picked up one of her knitting needles. This time she held it from its bottom like a fairy-god mother with a wand, then with a flick of her wrist a black stitching pattern of Bill’s bowtie appeared on the neck of the sweater – or really, just a thicker part of the top of the sweater seeing as Bill had no anatomical neck and Mabel had to assume it when she was making it. “Now you don’t have to feel naked anymore,” she stated proudly.

 

“WHY THE HECK DID YOU NOT DO THAT FOR THE _WHOLE_ SWEATER?” Bill asked still looking at the one she made with wariness, like a cat observing a new bed. He had to admit though, it was nice.

 

“Because,” Mabel drawled out a little too sarcastically. “I like knitting. Now are you going to try it on or what?” She stood on her bed and pushed the sweater to Bill’s eye.

 

“HEY! WHY THE HECK WOULD I EVEN THINK ABOUT WEARING THIS?” Bill asked, astonished that he did not know what Mabel was thinking at the moment.

 

He was trying to check, of course he was! But inside her subconscious all he found were child-like giggles, an illegal amount of glitter, and a loud blast of _‘Girls Just Do What They Want’_ by _Lindsey Cauper_ playing endlessly in her mind.

 

The outside Mabel however, hummed with a faux-contemplative look, sticking her tongue a little out of her mouth to show that she was in _such_ a thoughtful mood.

 

“Because,” She drawled out a second time, this time with an anticipating grin. “You’ll find out why I like to knit.” Bill stopped and looked at her like she was the actual insane being in the room.

 

“REALLY, KID. I DON’T EVEN HAVE YOUR WEAK SENSE OF HUMAN TOUCH, WHAT DO YOU THINK WEARING A SWEATER WILL DO? DO YOU THINK I’LL START GETTING _FEELINGS?”_ Bill laughed and was expecting something like disappointment from Mabel but she still held her grin wide and bright like she knew something he did not. Which was impossible and incredibly insulting!

 

“Tsk, tsk, Bill. You have all these questions when all of them could be answered if you. Just. Wear. The…” Before Mabel could finish Bill grabbed the sweater from her hands and shoved it on. As much as Bill’s power should not be questioned, his knowledge should never be an insult to him either.

 

“SWEATER! I GET IT!” He growled a bit as he adjusted the position of his new clothing. He had to admit, it fit him like five baby cobras in a glove and Bill had to wonder if Mabel was not actually just throwing random insults at him back when she had called him an ‘Isosceles Monster’ a couple weeks earlier. Could she actually tell he was isosceles? He shivered at the thought.

 

“Well?” Mabel snapped Bill out of his private thoughts. “What do you think of it?”

 

“IT’S A SWEATER.” He stated plainly looking down at Mabel, a bored expression on his eye. But there was no insult to his voice, why wasn’t he insulting her? She had made him think this sweater had answers and yet here he was, answerless! Bill should have been angry or mocking, but all he could seem to conjure up at the moment was this feeling of puzzlement over why this sweater was so special.

 

“Yep.” Mabel popped the ‘p’ in her response looking oddly satisfied. She did not seem to be smug at all when she had just made the infamous Bill Cipher wear her weird sweater, only satisfied and Bill had to feel puzzled at that too. Mabel then yawned and began to stretch herself down on her bed. “It’s definitely just a sweater,” she mumbled in a sleepy tone now focusing on cuddling herself up in her blanket.

 

She was beginning to wake up from her dream and her room and all of the creatures they had summoned were blurring away back into the hazy subconscious that made up Mabel’s mind.

 

Bill, definitely not wanting to watch Mabel wake up, snapped out of her dreamscape entering his own mindscape in the process. He had breathed out a relieved sigh, happy to get out of Mabel’s sweater-y obsessions when suddenly, he felt weird. Not the good weird but a weird related to _Mabel’s sweater-y obsession_?

 

“WHAT THE--” He yelped out loud feeling the hand knit sweater he had put on in Mabel’s dream still attached to him.

 

 When Mabel woke up, anything that either she or Bill made was supposed to disappear in her mindscape. How did this article of fabric transcend that law?

 

Bill snapped open a screen that showed the Pines twins’ real attic bedroom and to his expectation Mabel was wide awake. She was not disturbed by the dream, Bill had made sure to keep it a hazy mess when she woke up. If there was no negotiation there was really no need for anyone in Gravity Falls to remember his little visits. But if Mabel was awake, why was her sweater here?  

 

Bill looked at the sweater with every multi-dimensional vision he had. It was definitely from Mabel’s mind, the bright yellow glow coming off of it had a sense of childishness he could only recognize from her.

 

The yarn was formed by Bill’s imagination, the sweater was crafted by Mabel’s imagination all in her mindscape. Did both their imaginations transcend this one reality?

 

And why did the sweater have weight? Bill was in his own mindscape, nothing was supposed to disturb him in any way unless he wished it. Why did the arrays of loops and yarn feel warm and comfortable? Why did Bill feel like he was getting hugged? None of these feelings had his consent and by his rule, they should not exist in his own domain.

 

Did this sweater take some sort of odd physical form that disobeyed the laws of the mind? What a horrific wonder, a terrifying miracle, a beautiful disaster! Bill did not know how to feel about this.

 

On one hand, Bill loved anomalies and oddities. He lived for them, _they_ lived for him. But on the other hand, he was wearing a sweater that gave him feelings he had no idea he could even feel before.

 

Bill stroked the stitches of the sweater with his hand, feeling the fibres and molecules rush by his fingertips. He was all for disrupting the realities of space and time and somehow this sweater was too. He couldn’t hate a thing like that, even if it was filled with useless human emotions.

 

He was never going to wear it in public but Bill decided to keep it. He let it float in his mindscape constantly in slow motion until he wanted to wear it or observe it again.

 

Bill never really knew why Mabel liked knitting so much when it was just endless hours of being still, doing the same thing without rest and expecting something special to happen each time a project was finished. But then he remembered the old human saying:

 

_‘Insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting different results.’_

 

And if that was how Mabel wanted to roll, Bill was not about to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to drop something off before I head off to Italy in July for a school trip.
> 
> I like writing Bill and Mabel, they are such fun characters to write, I hope you enjoyed this and I will probably see you after I finish my exams or after my trip from Italy. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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